Recrimination of the Familiar Kind
by Mrs Mengele
Summary: A series of slashly diary-format drabbles for the SlashChallenge livejournal community. SnapeHarry and HarryDraco.


DISCLAIMER: The characters are J.K. Rowling's, and no profit is being made off of them. Male/male theme.  


NOTES: Diary-format drabbles written for the Slash_Challenge community on livejournal.com. Snape/Harry, Harry/Draco, Harry/Snape.   


  
** Recrimination of the Familiar Kind**

  
  
Dear Diary, 

There have been times in my life when everything has seemed all violently clear and sharp and razorblade edges, but because such clarity has usually been found by an open vein, an empty bottle, a drained phial, I have never been able to trust these moments, or to meet them with anything other than fear and revulsion. But perhaps unravelling these thoughts, now, in writing, will bring me some amount of peace -- if never absolution. 

Potter... Harry --- _the boy_ came to me after class, a trembling, blushing, breathless teenager - like he has so often lately, seeking something - or offering; comfort, pity, I cannot tell. Surely the last year has been straining, as it has for every one of us, but likely a thousandfold to the Shining Figurehead For The Light, so I do not blame him. But when a sixteen year old boy confesses a shift in his sentiments towards his formerly most hated teacher and tutor, one cannot help but to think that one of them, one of us, has gone quite mad. 

Oh, he did not linger after the others to declare his undying love for me, oh no. I suppose that we have learned to know each other's idiosynchrasies quite well over the years, as is only natural. Instead, most likely slightly embarrassed, he slipped a very old and potentially rare copy of Michael Maier's Atalanta Fugiens on my desk; and upon reading it I discovered - not on the first page, but the very last - an inscription: Amor omnia vincit, in red ink, much like blood. 

I am not sure what I thought, how I felt. I still am not. It is not as if he is especially moving in his form, infinite in faculty, lithe and graceful in his actions, or strikingly noble in reason. 

Only, but he is. 

Occasionally. When he is not being infuriating. 

Yet, he is a child. 

And I told him as much, when next we met - when he lowered his eyes before me like a wild beast asserting submission, when he held his breath as if exhaling would irreversibly break him, when his cheeks shone brightly red, like fireworks in the Far East. 

When he reached up to me on tip-toe and stole the most fragile kiss. 

When I turned him away. 

Eventually he will get past this adolescent turmoil of feelings, but I know already that I will never forget the look on his face. 

I am tainted, boy. I am Marked. Can you not see it? Do you not understand? 

I, of course, spoke of all of this with the Headmaster in one of my scheduled confessionals, mere hours ago. It was the most disturbing discourse. He seemed actually to encourage this wayward behaviour. 

You sacrificed me to the Dark Lord, and now, to make up for it, you would sacrifice Harry to me? _I_ am not a monster, Albus. 

  
Only, but I am. 

_His._

Love, 

S. S.   
  


* * *

  
  
June 30th 1997  


Dear Diary,  


You won't believe what happened to me today!  


Malfoy and I were on our way back from our extra Defence lessons at Snape Manor (at three in the morning, no less -- trust that unbelievably sexy git never to let us leave until we're thoroughly knackered) that we've had to attend all Summer, when we were caught in the nastiest, filthiest, _wettest_ downpour of rain, ever. 

We ran from the tram station to the door of our Croydon flat when I realized that I'd left my bag along with my keys (and my mental stability) behind - and then that biddy bastard Malfoy informs me that *he* wouldn't be caught dead carrying such dumb "Muggle devices", no matter how much his stupid Death Eater father may want to catch him now he's switched sides. Yeah, right - I'd rather he hadn't, because I'm sick of babysitting the spoiled-rotten git. (And I still don't understand why the Ministry and Dumbledore couldn't station us in London Proper if we really do have to spend the entire Summer out here - I'm bored to death.) 

So anyway, we're locked outside, the caretaker won't be up and about for hours, we're soaking wet, and the worst thunderstorm ever is raging outside (almost!). Then the bloody idiot whips out his wand (which, incidentally, he wasn't even *supposed* to bring with him) and opens his mouth to shout what I'm sure would have been 'Alohomora!' had I not shoved him against the wall. Stupid bugger. Like I said, not only are we still under that Decree thingy for Underage Wizardry, but the whole point of being here is so that the Death Eaters don't find us. It would be pretty easy for them to pin-point magical activity here, since this place is about as Muggle-y as they come. 

Then he told me I should grow some backbone -- which I found hilarious coming from someone who for years used to start his every sentence with 'father says' and 'father thinks'. Yes father. No father. _Ohh_, faster father! 

I'm pretty sure he tried to hex me after I told him that, too, but I snatched his wand before he could get the words out. He wanted to hit me, as well, but I caught his fist, so he just told me to get shafted, sat down on the stairs, and started sulking. He does have pretty nice lips when they're pouting. Pale, though. Pale eyes, pale hair, pale skin - he's just pale! 

After a while of quietly sitting on the steps he asked me why I was scared of the 'Dark Lord', which really annoyed me for some reason. I told him I've been so close to Voldemort I know what his breath smells like. His eyes flinched at the name and I realized that despite his bravado he *is* afraid of Voldemort and his father. 

I don't know why, maybe because he looked so fragile then, the next thing I did was lean closer and kiss him. Draco! And he didn't even kill me or anything, just pulled me back to him and told me that it's not like we've anything else to do all night. It's a very peculiar feeling, having someone shove their tongue down your throat and licking your teeth, let me tell you. And a bloke, to boot! We did something else, too, but I'm so not going to write about it here. 

Someone might read this, and everything.   
  


* * *

  
  
Dear Diary, 

I'm still not sure what to think of this strange scar-faced new boy with the looks of that dreadful Gryffindor James Potter and the bright green eyes of his mudblood consortist, Lily Lilian Evans. It would make sense for him to be their offspring, but he has to be lying. Who ever heard of a curse that could send you twenty years back in time! 

Yet he does seem to know the most disturbing and intimate details about my life, things I'm sure I haven't told a living soul. And apparently, um, things that I'd rather he didn't let slip to Potter or Regulus' sodding older brother Sirius Insipidous or any of their dastardly Gryffindor minions. 

He claims we're lovers! 

Or were. Or will be, in the future. This is all terribly confusing. 

He just pulled me to a narrow corridor on my way to Arithmancy class the other day, blurted it all out and tried to snog me. I was understandably shocked; Harry - that's his name - looks far too much like James Potter for me to be able to even think about any kind of romantic entanglements with him. So I told him I didn't like boys and escaped scurried off, but somehow I don't think he believed me. 

And then there's the issue of the boy from the future having been, I mean, he must have been -- so much younger than me. Not to mention being my student! Why would my older self have trysted with a pupil? I can't seriously see myself fancying children once I grow up, I'm mostly attracted to older men as it is. Why would that change? I just do not understand. 

But it does feel kind of good when someone as breathtakingly beautiful handsome as he (I must confess) is tells you that he not only wants you, quite palpably by the looks of it, in the carnal sense, but actually seems to love you for who you are in that... non-carnal way. Despite of what you are. 

Perhaps I should talk with him, properly, one of these days, about the world from which he came, even if I'm not entirely sure I want to know too much about my own future. I could probably seize him on his way out from the Great Hall after dinner. Yes, I think I shall. 

And maybe I should also reconsider that 'job offer' Lucius Malfoy, who was right here in Slytherin a few years ago, made at that family dinner party three weeks ago... 

Severus 


End file.
